Ivy and Friends
by Unfinishedsenten
Summary: Tales of Poison Ivy and her interactions with the rest of the Rogues Gallery.


As she came forward, all rushed and red and relentless, the woman's horrible, contorted, angry face suddenly smoothed out, like some sort of fast-moving magic clay, into a serene, Goddess-clean beauty-mask, and the hot lance of lava that had been coursing through Jervis's left arm suddenly dissipated, and he found himself enveloped in a blissful blanket of some fantastic, otherworldly smell. This happened within a matter of seconds, like an undertow ripping an unfortunate swimmer underneath the roiling waters, like an epileptic seizure brought on by some particularly powerful, sensory-overloading imagery. Where once before there was a frisson of the most overwhelming desperation and exasperation, there was immediately afterwards an all-consuming miasma of pure, perfect peace descending rapidly over Jervis Tetch's mind and body.

And once the pheromones had worked their way through his system, Jervis smiled, and felt at peace, too.

The smell itself was indescribable, inarticulate; the images that floated up to the skim-surface of Tetch's mind, the colorful array of thoughts and reveries and bright Halcyon memories the man associated with that pungent aroma, all stood out in clean, clear relief. It was, to him, the smell of toadstool woodlands, of mushroom stems grown as high as buildings, their spotted white-and-red caps gleaming with the bright rays of a sun not too far out of reach; it was the smell of verdant, whispering gardens, of butter-clogged cogs, of rich, rude perversion, of whirling, beating, throbbing, colors. It was the smell of a world buried underneath, of upside-down logic, of pun funs and delightful, dirty messes; it was the smell of Mother, as she slid onto his bed, that magical, eye-opening book in her hands, and read to him the transcripts of his dreams; it was the smell of rainy days and phlegmy coughs, of hip-hip hoorays and little-league playoffs. It was the smell of sex-sweat, of pink vapor, and puffy eyes, and cloying drifts of chemical smoke; the smell of pulsing rivers of pleasure and crumbling brick walls. It was the smell of widening gaps in the very fabric of reality; it was the smell of hot, faint breath and tiny, taut flesh and pert little blonde hair and reaching fingers and wide, curious eyes and the exploration of the beast beyond the zipper. It was the smell of tea, of every sort of tea in the whole wide world, of warm scones and strawberry cake. It was the smell of dainty little ballet flats and light-blue dresses and pintsized panties and naïve, innocent, trusting smiles.

It was, all in all, the smell of Alice.

And the smell of Alice was so powerful to him at that moment, so inexplicably _there_ , so utterly _present,_ that Jervis forgot everything inherent to him; who he was, where he was, why he was there, how, when, what: all those obvious answers became unimportant questions as a smile stretched his lips almost to his ears and his body prickled with excitement. It seemed as if every hair on his body was standing at attention—-probably that was the case, too. He stirred between his legs. A hungry yearning warmed up his stomach and lit up his pores. Intelligent thought, _cautionary_ thought, was driven from his mind, replaced only by desire; desire for this woman, this woman with the red hair whose sweet, sweet perfume was installing in his mind such wonderful, delightful things, such glorious sights and memoires and dreams.

She walked closer to him, closer, closer. Where exactly they were located suddenly became a blurry backdrop of banal necessity—-they had to be _somewhere_ , Jervis knew that much, but the nearby environment and whatever odor _it_ might have contained was suddenly as slight and insubstantial as his sense of self-control and will. The woman was clear, though. Oh yes, _she_ was clear. Here was a figure, a slim and slender figure, limned with uncanny brightness against the hazy yellows and browns of its whereabouts.

Here was an angel, eating up the limelight.

She was wearing a green one-piece bathing suit, Jervis saw. Her hair was a flowing curtain of crimson skeins, each strand seeming to gleam and glow with ethereal luminescence. Her eyes were a tender, inquiring emerald—-as she got closer, Jervis thought those bright green eyes spoke to his soul, and were asking it if it was alright, asking if it needed her to do anything to make it feel better, telling it is was a good boy, that it could go out and play only if it put on a heavy coat and some gloves. In the back of his mind someone whispered that all of this meant something, but he doubted if he would be able decipher just _what_ it meant if even he wanted to.

And, dear God, he didn't want to.

Not at all.

The woman smiled.

"Where is she, Tetch?" she asked, and Jervis heard her voice as every man does once the pheromones have run full tilt inside his mind and body: he heard it as a soft, slight, almost whisper-like lilt. The voice of the soft-spoken ingénue, the voice of a nurturing candy striper, the voice of a small, contemplating child.

The voice of Alice.

Jervis told her where she was—-there was no need in asking what she meant; like her appearance, her question was as clear and simple to him as a thin slant of sunshine falling through the slit in the shutters of a window. He smiled as he answered, for he _wanted_ to answer, wanted to please her, help her, in any way that he could.

After he was finished, his flesh cried out for her. Cried for her to bend over and press those bright cherry lips along every inch of his body.

The woman smiled again, and then leaned in. Jervis felt a surge of near euphoria, and had time to be dimly aware of how much he was sweating before the woman mushed her lips against his and then the smell was in his mouth, billowing like smoke, awaking every cell in his body. And right before that smell started to burn and send tendrils of poison racing down his throat, tears flowed down Jervis's cheek and he felt nothing but the purest of impulsions to placate and caress and be with this beautiful, beautiful angel in front of him.


End file.
